PHILADELPHIA, SATURDAY, DEC. 23, 1882
A WEEK ON GETTYSBURG FIELD
What a Good Samaritan Saw During the Days
Following the Battle.
TWENTY THOUSAND PATIENTS
Food for the Starving and Reviving Cordials
for the Lips of the Dying.
Strong Men in Dire Need and Mere Lads
Hungry for Mother's Care
BY MRS. MARY CADWELL FISHER

It was impossible for one who lived in the sections of the country remote from the seat of war to
realize the meaning of life in the Border States in that time that tried the souls of all men and wrung
with anguish the hearts of the devoted women both North and South. Unprotected by military force,
with no natural barrier between the seceding and the loyal States, the exaggerated rumors and the
constant suspense were appalling in the early days of the deadly struggle. But soon familiarized to
the life we became indifferent to danger, and with the advent of the summer campaign sent away
our plates and valuables and calmly awaited whatever might come to us in the fortunes of war. We
devoted ourselves to preparing supplies for the Sanitary Corps and to hospital work, which alike
filled our hearts with compassion and our hands with labor. Situated but a few miles from the border,
the sick and wounded were often sent to us directly from the field, giving most forcible impressions
of the revolting results of every battle; but vivid as those scenes were they paled into insignificance
in the presence of the actual battle ground, as I saw it at Gettysburg, immediately after the great combat.

STARTING FOR THE BATTLE-FIELD

On the morning of Saturday, July 4, 1863, came the glorious news of our victorious arms and of the
retreat of the enemy towards the border. We learned that by afternoon supplies could be forwarded to
our army. The public square in York was rapidly filled with wagons packed with provisions, clothing,
blankets and hospital stores waiting the arrival of the banished horses which had been sent across the
river before the occupation of the town by General Gordon's command. About 3 p.m. I started with
two ladies and my oldest son in a two-horse wagon loaded with necessaries of every kind. A former
Cabinet minister presented me with several dozen bottles of the purest imported liquors, with the
request that we distribute it ourselves, to which I added a quantity of fine old whiskey from one of
our celebrated county distilleries.

The urgent call for help from Gettysburg decided us to go through without stopping. We took a
circuitous route, avoiding the turnpike, and traveling with great caution, as we were in danger of
meeting squads of desperate fugitives from the defeated army. Before nightfall a pouring rain came on,
and fearing to continue our journey in the darkness, as the swollen streams might render the by-roads
impassable, we stopped at Hanover until the storm subsided. After a few hours rest we again started
in the clear starlight. A hushed calm brooded over the whole earth, as if nature herself had participated
in the fearful combat and had lain down to rest. Day gradually broke with a strange, solemn light.
Slowly the Sabbath sun came up over the distant hill-tops as if reluctant to look upon the scenes of
horror on the battle ground, only yesterday filled with fierce combatants, and the incessant roar of
artillery drowning the groans of thousands of poor wounded fellows; to-day covered with the unburied dead
and the wrecks of the bloody strife.

A SIGHT OF A WOUNDED GENERAL

As we neared Gettysburg, still cautiously proceeding, we heard firing at regular intervals, while an
occasional report told that the artillery was still doing its fatal work. We were repeatedly stopped by
sentinels who refused to allow us to pass the lines, representing the danger of meeting with
skirmishing parties, or of being struck by a chance shell, but a note from our Chief Burgess stating
our errand prevailed and we were allowed to proceed. Before we reached the highway we became
aware of the approach of a large body of troops and thought, "peradventure, the Philistines were
upon us," but just after we entered the road we met a small squad of soldiers with a guard bearing
General Sickles on a stretcher, and were much relieved to find ourselves in the hands of friends.

Half a mile further on we were delayed for an hour by General Slocum's Division making a forced
march in full pursuit of the enemy. As the men recognized our hospital flag, the officers rushed out
from the line to give us a grateful clasp of the hand and "God bless you" for our timely aid, while
cheer after cheer went up from the ranks. Brave fellows, how tired they looked; grimed with the
smoke of battle, weary and footsore, they went on the way rejoicing in their victory, unmindful of
hunger, fatigue or the heavy roads, tramping in mud up to the wheels of their gun carriages. About
7 A.M. we reached the first hospital ground. I thought before this that I had learned all the horrors
of warfare inside the walls of our crowded hospitals and from the continually passing trains of
wounded, bleeding men to whom we carried food and stimulants, as they went on their way to
distant points. It was of frequent occurrence to receive a telegram announcing an hour at which a
train would arrive with hundreds of sufferers who would stop to be fed; often coming directly from
the fighting ground, the cars dripping with blood from undressed wounds. Our citizens never
failed to respond, laden with coffee, soup and bread.

PITIFUL SIGHTS OF THE TIME

But here a new revelation of the brutality of war was presented to my eyes. No imagination
could paint the picture in that wood. I instinctively recoiled from the sight. Grouped beneath
the trees we saw about five hundred, the wounded from the first day's battle, who had hastily
been removed beyond fighting limits. They were lying upon the bare ground, some of them literally
half buried in mud. There was no shelter. Wounded, chilled, starving and racked with pain, how
they welcomed us as we carried food and reviving cordial. Our stock of bread and other pro-
visions was rapidly disappearing and the hungry men were not half satisfied, when we were
relieved by the arrival of several wagons from the provision train. The extra train (about thirty
wagons) had remained at Hanover all night and were considerably in our rear. They were
delayed before reaching General Kilpatrick's headquarters (at a farm house several miles from
Gettysburg) by one of his aides, who commanded them in his name to immediately unload the
provisions, as they needed the wagons to convey the wounded officers to Littlestown.

AN ACT OF CHAPLAIN ADAMS

The gentlemen remonstrated, telling him the wagons belonged to private parties and had come
to relieve the wants of the suffering soldiers in response to urgent demands for help, that most of
the provisions were for immediate use and could not be stored without loss. "That makes no
difference," was the reply; "we need the wagons and must have them." At this juncture a
venerable gentleman approached and after hearing the case inquired by whose authority the
officer made the demand.

"By the authority of General Kilpatrick, sir."
"General Kilpatrick? Ah, very good; we will see about that," and drawing from his pocket
a folded paper gave it to the aid. The crestfallen Captain handed it back with a deferential
salute. The old gentleman was Chief Chaplain of the Army. He directed the train to the Fifth
Army Corps, about five miles from Gettysburg, where we already were, and told them if they
were again molested to say that they were under the protection of Chaplain Adams.

We spent the morning with them in that wood of that "charnel house of death." It contained the
desperately wounded men of Friday's battle. They had received but scanty care and no supplies but
a little hard bread and coffee since they had lain there. The huge Pennsylvania barn was completely
packed, so full that we could not step between the men; even the stables and lofts were crowded.

"A MINISTERING ANGEL, THOU"

In all that ghastly array of human misery, between three and four hundred men, there was not one
whole individual. Every one had lost either an arm or a leg, and in some cases both were gone.
One poor wretch had both legs and his right arm torn off by a shell, and one had lost both arms and
one leg. There was every conceivable form of wounds, cuts and bruises. What horribly mutilated
faces looked up to us from the straw-littered boards which formed the only beds! No pillows to
support the bruised and aching head, nor blanket to cover the shivering limbs. As we entered, the
first words of welcome was: Thank God, there is a woman," and the questions, "Where did you
come from?" "How did you get here?" and "What did you come for?" greeted us on every side and
the glad news that we had come to bring help passed like an electric thrill from man to man.

TEARS OF GRATITUDE

Exhausted with loss of blood, faint with hunger, they turned to us with imploring looks, and
dying eyes brightened at the sight of friends bringing food and aid. Some who seemed almost gone,
apparently too weak to take sustenance, could be revived with a few drops of brandy or a little wine
and water until they could swallow some moistened bread. Many had to be fed like infants, either
too weak or too disabled to help themselves. How eagerly they devoured the sweet home-made bread
and butter, which we gave sparingly at first, only a little piece at a time, repeating the ration as they
were able to bear it. It seemed at first incredible to them that we had enough for all, and in several
instances with heroic self-denial, one would turn to his comrade and say: "Give it to him; he needs
it more than I do. I had a biscuit this morning." I saw tears of gratitude run down the cheeks of men
who would have died in the ranks without flinching as they received the food we so gladly gave.
Even the nurses came to the wagon and begged for a crust of bread, having been two days with
nothing to eat.

GLORYING IN McCLELLAN'S NAME

How bravely they bore all the suffering and privation, scorning to complain. How eagerly they
asked the news of the battle. Many who thought McClellan had resumed command of the army
said with exulting looks and tones: "We never could have fought so if he had not been there,"
and one poor fellow whose moments were numbered, making a last supreme effort, said with
faltering accents, "We--couldn't--have--whipped--'em--if McClellan--had--not been--h--head,"
and glorying in the thought that he had poured out his life blood for the honor of his beloved leader,
calmly sank back to die. Watching by him till the last spark of life had fled, I closed his eyes and
left to burial one unknown to fame. It seems impossible that poor, weak, human nature could endure
such agonies with such fortitude, such uncomplaining heroism. Loss of limbs, torturing pains, even
death itself, seemed to them as nothing in comparison with the glorious success for which they
suffered.

The time was all too short for the work before us; hours flew like minutes. Night approached before
we half fulfilled our task. Leaving supplies with the nurses we left in response to the urgent call from
other points in the same distressing need. About 6 P.M. we started for Gettysburg. On our arrival
we were greeted with blessings, thanks and prayers for help on every side. Here would come from a
surgeon the repeated message: "Come quickly, for the love of God," then another begging for food
for his starving multitude, while the demands for lint and bandages were incessant. Hospitals for
the soldiers had been arranged in all the public buildings while the private houses were filled with officers of all rank.
My first summons was to the Court House. Armed with my brandy bottle and basket of bread, I at
once followed the messenger. The most eloquent description would fail to convey the faintest idea
of that scene; the writhing agonies, the bleeding, gaping wounds, the dying groans, while over all
hung black "shadows of death."

A NIGHT OF CARE

As I paused on the threshold I felt as though I must fly from its horrors; I could no longer endure
such spectacles. I had gone through so much fatigue that my nerves were unstrung and my hands
seemed paralyzed, but the momentary weakness yielded to the instructive prompting to help the poor
wretches. All through the weary night I went from one to another, refreshing the faint with food
and drink, cheering the hopeless with words of comfort, and, too often, alas! closing the eyes of
one who passed away, clinging to the friendly hand with feeble grasp. The mere sight of women
seemed to give consolation even when we were unable to do anything for their relief. The most
efficient of all the helpers were the "Sisters of Mercy." They were able to give assistance to the
surgeons in dressing the most painful wounds. How gently and tenderly they ministered to the
suffering multitude! Silent and noiseless in their movements, their very presence seemed a bene-
diction, and the touch of the cool, soft hand could soothe the most restless and nervous sufferer.

I remained in the town on Monday, giving of my long experience in hospital work in trying to best
serve the needs of the hour. That night, being completely exhausted, I remained at the house of a
friend, whose doors (as indeed was generally the case) were ever open to give help and shelter to
the needy and weary. Here I must pay a most deserved tribute to the inhabitants of that devoted
town. Nothing could exceed their generous hospitality. They came out of the battle fought in their
very midst with hands ready for every needed work, and hearts overflowing with sympathy for the
unfortunate claimants for care, with unflinching nerves the women carrying the wounded in as they
were shot down at their very doors. Friend and foe alike were ministered to with untiring effort.
The resources of the good house-mothers were inexhaustible; not one complaint of loss, privation
or trouble, but all, with heart and soul, entered into the good work as fresh as if they had not lived
under a deadly fire for days.

THE DRAIN UPON THE TOWNS-PEOPLE

Our incessant demands for facilities in our work were most cheerfully granted, and their choicest
stores were ever at our disposal. A heavy burden was imposed upon them in entertaining strangers
who came to assist in the emergency. They filled their rooms with cots for our accommodation, and
provided meals for us without stint or grudging. The situation at Gettysburg was particularly
distressing. The long continued and severe fight had exhausted both men and means. The
surrounding country had been depleted by the demands of both armies, draining every available
source. The lack of horses to transport provisions and the panic of the rural population in the
vicinity rendered it impossible to procure the wherewith to supply the necessities of the immense
number of wounded men, more than twenty thousand in the immediate neighborhood. The army
moved at once, taking the medical stores and leaving behind a very inadequate corps of surgeons
and nurses.

On Monday I was, by request, assigned to the Second Army Corps' Hospital, temporarily
located on the ground along Rock Creek, about two and a half miles south of Gettysburg. I
began work there on Tuesday morning. As I look back upon it from this standpoint of peace
and prosperity, I can hardly credit the reality of the scenes then so familiar. How can I paint that
picture, as I beheld it first on that bright July morning? More than two thousand wounded men
lying on three hill sides, which gently sloped down to a ravine. At their base two of the hills
were crowded with our own brave boys in blue, and the third with the no less boys in gray.
What a tiny band of workers we seemed to clothe the naked, feed the hungry and shelter the
dying from the fierce rays of the sun. On our arrival it seemed hopeless to attempt to do any-
(NOTE: missing text) , but a system of divided labor was adopted, assigning to each assistant a
certain field and certain duties.

Some were able to materially aid the surgeons in their herculean task, and with firm hands and
steady nerves assisted in dressing wounds; others devoted themselves to feeding and clothing
the men. The good work was forwarded with marvelous rapidity, and before nightfall the ground
was dotted with tents and the store and kitchen cabins were in order. Our first work was to satisfy
the hunger of the men, taking them row by row as they came in regular order. We made no
difference between the Union soldiers and the prisoners in the distribution of food, clothing
and medicines which the nurses could administer. Many were not so badly wounded, but
that they could help themselves somewhat, and after being revived and strengthened by food,
clean clothing and needed stimulants could, in turn, assist in the care of their helpless comrades.

JUDGE BLACK'S BOTTLE

Fortunately my private stores enabled me to give prompt aid in many cases where stimulants
were required. Nothing was more needed and nothing more difficult to obtain than good liquors.
My stock, like the "widow's cruse of oil," held out in a marvelous manner, and the generous
surgeons often told me that Judge Black's brandy bottle saved more lives than their instruments
and medicine combined. The head surgeon of the Second Army Corps was most courteous to
the volunteer nurses, and untiring in his efforts to render more tolerable the situation of his
command. Naturally a broad humanitarian, he looked upon those in his care as men, and not
mere "food for powder." He placed at my disposal an ambulance and two boys in blue to assist
me, thus enabling me to send to town at any time for delicacies which could not be prepared or
obtained on the ground.

AMONG THE CONFEDERATE SUFFERERS

Much of my work lay among the Confederate troops, whom I found in a most deplorable
condition. In some instance they were entirely destitute of clothing, being covered with a piece
of old blanket. Others had nothing on but a ragged shirt or pair of drawers, those who were fortunate
enough to have two garments sharing with those who had none. The long march had completely
worn out the poor uniform, and the distance from the base of their supplies rendered it impossible
to replace them. Providentially our ample stores enabled us to clothe them all decently. How
emaciated they were! Some of them told me they had subsisted almost entirely upon corn, gathered
from the fields in their hurried march, which ravenous hunger often compelled them to devour
green from the stalk. After the struggle was over and there was no longer need for exertion, nature
seemed to have exhausted her resources, and they were for the most part indifferent, depressed and
hopeless.

CHARACTER OF THE PRISONERS

The larger number of those in my care belonged to the poorer class of whites of the South, but among
them were many of "nature's noblemen," intelligent and courteous, fully representing the idea of
"Southern chivalry," showing in their bearing towards the women of our party the utmost deference
and gratitude; preserving their dignity and manliness under the most trying circumstances. Still it
was very apparent that they bore, in bitterness of soul, the downfall of their ambitious hopes. But
one short week before they stood in battle array, with "all the pride, pomp and circumstance of war,"
to crush the Northern army. Now prisoners on the invaded soil they lay at the mercy of their captors.
They manifested the utmost surprise at the impartial treatment they received at our hands, and
could not understand why we fed and clothed them as promptly and willingly as we did our own men.

One day, after a very fatiguing morning, I sat down on a stump for a moment's rest among the
Southern soldiers. As usual a group of boys gathered around me and one said:
"Madam, I can't understand your treatment of us. Our women would not be so willing to help
prisoners from your army, but you are just as kind to us as to your own men."
"Oh," I said, " the reason is that we do not look upon you as enemies. We still regard you
as our own children, and although you have gone astray we have not given you up and expect you to
come back to us, just as a loving mother hopes her wayward boy will repent of his wanderings and
disobedience and return again to take his place around the hearthstone. You belong to us yet, and
the time will come when we shall again be one people, under a united government."

"Well, boys," said one of the brightest of them, "there is something in that. Now, mar'm, won't
you please give us a chaw of tobacker?"

SECTIONAL JEALOUSY HARDLY NOTICEABLE

I was much surprised at the absence of all sectional jealousy among the enlisted men. The
greater number ignored the difference between North and South and many on both sides seemed to
have but a faint realization of the meaning of the warfare in which they engaged, and were entirely
ignorant of the great principles involved. I met but one Union soldier who complained that we
treated the "rebs" as well as our own men. I had asked him to carry the heavy tray for me one
morning, as I was about to give out the breakfast, and as I went to a group of prisoners who came
first in my way he refused to go, saying he would not feed the "rebels" while so many of our own
men were still hungry.

Among many similar instances I recall one of a Confederate officer of high rank, who, by the
courtesies of war, would at once have been removed to comfortable quarters. I first met him on
Wednesday, lying on the ground, with no shelter but a couple of army blankets. Upon my
expressions of surprise at finding him in such a situation he replied that he could not desert his
men.

"I enlisted most of the poor fellows," said he, "and I will stay by them as long as I am permitted
to remain."

He had a brother, also an officer in his regiment, lying near him. They did all in their power to
help the men bear the terrible reverse. He, besides being painfully wounded, was suffering
severely from chills and rheumatism.

AN INSTANCE OF GENEROSITY

I offered him some brandy which he refused, saying, "I can do without it, but if you can give some
to that poor fellow," (pointing to one lying near him racked with cramps) "I will be exceedingly
indebted." After complying with the request I told him I had some for him also, and gave him a cup
and a bottle of old whiskey that he might use it at his discretion. I sent for some strong hot coffee,
which revived him, and procured for him some quinine and a supply of blankets and pillows, and
had a tent put up for him that night. I subsequently had several interviews with him and found him
an earnest, thoughtful man, who deplored the war and felt from the beginning that it never should
have been inaugurated. His heart overflowed with sympathy for the unfortunate men who had
been coerced into the fight, and who had lost everything, with no hope of reparation.

Among the men were all classes, creeds and colors. In one of my errands in a remote part of the
field, I was called to see a most distressing case. Long before I reached the designated spot I
heard the most agonizing groans and appeals for mercy, a constant repetition of "Oh, God! Have
mercy upon me; Oh! God have mercy upon my lost soul."

Again was the cry lifted up in pitiful tones! "Oh, God, save me from my sins!" I found on
reaching him one of the hopelessly wounded cases, a poor fellow who had been left to die, being past
all aid. I approached him and asked what I could do for him. He turned his eloquent dark eyes,
lustrous and beautiful, even in his dying agony, upon me.

I shall never forget the impression he made upon me. A man of powerful physique and remarkable
personal beauty, with a rich, dark olive complexion. Every lineament of his face spoke of intellect,
pride and great magnetic power. Oh, what anguish was depicted there. He reminded me of some
great creature brought to bay, with no way to escape. Such terror! Such fear! The like I never
before saw painted on the face of man. He shook his head and said "You can do nothing. I must
die. I only ask for death. Oh, this dreadful, dreadful suffering! Oh, my soul! Oh, God have mercy
on my poor soul!"

UNKNOWN TO HIS COMRADES

I inquired about him of a man lying near who told me he had seven gunshot wounds through his
body, that he could not be moved and nothing could alleviate his pain. Of his former life or history
nothing was known. They had fought side by side in several battles. Until then he seemed to bear a
charmed life; possessed of incredible strength and bravery, his tall form was ever to be seen in the
thickest of the fight. He was always a reserved and moody man, evidently far superior in intellect,
education and position to most of the soldiers, with whom he never fraternized. As he lay there his
eyes riveted to my face, as though he would fain derive some comfort, I tried to soothe him by
pointing out to him the way to obtain the mercy he so eagerly craved and repeated to him the old,
yet ever new story of Him who suffered greater agony than he endured, even the burden of the
guilt of all mankind, and died on the cross that he and all men might live eternally. He listened
with despairing eagerness, then turning away with a groan, replied:

"Oh! Madam, my Savior has not yet come. I must die without seeing Him. I am a Jew."

WORDS OF COMFORT SPOKEN IN VAIN

Again, I tried to tell him of the infinite love and compassion, that even at the eleventh hour he might
believe and lay his sins on the "Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world." He mournfully
shook his head and said: Oh! I have heard all these sayings before, but my Christ has not come.

Oh! God of Abraham, hear me." He begged for death to end his miseries. I left him, to send some
opiate which I hoped might reduce him to blessed unconsciousness. Two days after I was near the
same part of the ground and heard his faint voice still uttering the same prayer to the "God of his
fathers," but I did not approach him. It was too painful to witness such distress, with no power of
relief. Whether his great agony was from the retrospect of his life or the pathetic appeal of a faithful
"son of Abraham," dying with no priest of the ancient faith to lay the hand of expiation on his
substitute, was ever an impenetrable secret, like the unwritten history of thousands who were
sacrificed in that great war.

COOLING DRAUGHTS TO DYING LIPS

Among the most harrowing in those days of horrible sights were those of sufferers who had been
left to their inevitable death. There was no time or means on the first day or two after the battle to
spend on the mortally wounded. Our strength and resources were taxed to the uttermost limit to
even insufficiently help the men who had a chance for life, but those whose days were numbered
and were pronounced beyond surgical aid had to depend on their fellow-sufferers' care. Many a
poor fellow died on the bare ground, with no shelter, and happy he who found a pitying comrade to
close his eyes and fold his hands across his wounded breast. I never could pass those unfortunates
without stopping a moment to say some word of sympathy or give the cup of cold water for which
they thirsted.

A LAD NEAR DEATH

One beautiful evening, after a long day's hard work, one of my boys came to me and said: "There
is a little chap' out there who heard there was a woman from his home and he wants to see you."
I found him at the farthest extremity of the hospital, with a half dozen other hopeless cases. He was
a lovely boy, scarcely more than a child, who had run away from his home in Providence, Rhode
Island, to join the "drum corps." He was a brave boy and a great pet among the soldiers, who
nursed him as tenderly as possible, but could poorly supply a mother's loving care. How he longed
for one more look of her dear face and once again to hear her sweet words of love! He was so frail
and slight it was a marvel how he could have endured the fatigue and privation (Note: missing
4 - 8 lines of text).......was not disfigured by wounds, but constant marches, insufficient food and
often sleepless nights had exhausted his strength and he had not vitality to resist the sharp attack
of fever. He was perfectly conscious, but too weak to say much.

"KISS ME, LADY, BEFORE I DIE"

I asked the poor child what I could do for him. "Oh, I want my mother!" I sat down on the ground
and taking him in my arms tried to comfort him. He turned his face to me, saying, "I am so
tired," laid his head against me and appeared to sleep. The last rays of the sun touched the lovely
features of the dying boy. The long drawn shadows vanished in the gathering darkness. Silence,
unbroken save by the plaintive moan of some poor victim, succeeded the hum of the busy day. The
pitying dews shed a balm upon his brow. Fainter and fainter grew the breath and more feeble the
clasp of the little hand, when suddenly rousing he opened his eyes, glazed in death, and looking long
and earnestly in my face, said: "Kiss me, lady, before I die!" Clinging still closer to the stranger who
could but faintly represent the fond mother's tenderness he so eagerly craved, he dropped his heavy
lids and slept away his brief life as peacefully as a child goes to sleep in its mother's arms. I gently
laid the lifeless form down on the hard earth and left him to a soldier's burial and a nameless
grave. Poor fellow, what an atom he seemed to be in all that mass of wretched, suffering,
dying humanity! Yet he was all the world to the heart of that mother, who wept and prayed for
her darling's safe return to the distant home, that never again would echo his boyish step or
ringing laugh.

A PARTY OF JOLLY LADS

One of the saddest of all the saddest incidents crowded into this week of suffering was the fate
of some boys whom I found on Wednesday evening as I was about to leave the ground. When I
had reached the ravine which lay below the sloping hills I found a little group of young men who
had not been badly wounded, but were temporarily unfit for duty. They had kindled a fire and
drawn around it some logs, upon which they had stretched themselves to dry their soaked uniforms.
Three of them were from the old "Bay State." There were also two Georgians, prisoners; one
raw Irish boy, who was the life of the party, and a down Easter from the forests of Maine. In spite
of their discomforts they were a jolly set, the oldest not more than eighteen years. As usual they
begged me for a "chaw of tobacker." Unfortunately, I had exhausted my supply, but found in the
depths of my pocket some calamus root and some cinnamon bark which they willingly took as a
substitute. "Oh," said one, "this makes me think of home and the pies my mother made! When I
had to grind the cinnamon for her she always gave me a piece." They all began to talk about their
homes, telling me their simple stories. Even the Irish boy fondly recalled the memory of the little
cabin in the Green Island where he was born, and longed to see the sisters and brothers with whom
he shared his scanty meal.

They begged me to stay with them, but it was late, and my faithful escort was impatiently waiting
to take me back to my night quarters in town, and I reluctantly left them with the promise to go at
noon the next day and take them tobacco and some pies if I could procure them. A sharp, sudden
shower came up in the night and converted the little stream into a roaring torrent. The little band of
light-hearted merry boys, who had borne hunger, thirst and the fatigues of many a weary day's
march, had escaped the deadly battle and the fatal shell only to die in the midst of safety. They
were all swept away without a moment's warning and drowned in the flood.

On my arrival at the surgeon's headquarters on morning, one of the surgeons desired me to look
after some sick boys who had been placed in a separate tent the day before. The presence of those
who had been badly wounded was very unfavorable to the sick and seemed to retard their recovery.
There were about a half a dozen of them who needed nursing and special diet. I had just begun to
inquire into the wants and needs, when I heard a faint voice saying: "Come here." As I went over to
the cot its occupant said: "Don't you know me?" I carefully studied his wasted lineaments, but could
not discover one familiar feature. "Don't you remember Charley M____, who lived in the little brown
house on the hill in N____?"

He was the son of a poor widow in my native town, whom I had often seen in my girlhood days, but
who until then had passed from my notice. He was so happy to find some one to whom he could talk
about his mother and his home. He directed me where to find a number of boys from the neighboring
towns, all of whom were delighted to once more see a Northern woman, even though a stranger. I
spent most of my time with them after that, writing to their friends and attending to their wants.

"I AM DYING FOR A DRINK"

One morning, soon after I began my work, one of the Southern boys came and begged me to to
a comrade of his, who had been shot in the head. The lower part of his face was entirely gone. He
could not speak, was suffering intense agony, but no one could understand what he wanted. I gave
him a pencil and card. He wrote, "I am dying for a drink!" It was impossible for him to swallow
anything with his mutilated face, but a lady provided a cup with a tube and gave him some lemon-
ade, which afforded him relief. Nothing could be done to alleviate his suffering. His wound
could be dressed only by repeating cloths wet with cold water. The raw flesh was alive with vermin.
His companion, who attended him with the utmost devotion, told me he was a "good fellow."
They always called him "the praying boy."

BEARING HIS MOTHER IN MIND

He showed me a little Bible which contained his mother's name and a prayer for her darling's
safety. He wanted us to write and tell her where and how he had died. After giving him all the
time I could spare I left, promising to go and see him the next day. When I went back the
next morning his place was vacant. His mother's prayers were answered. He was safe at
home in the house with many mansions which God has prepared for his children.

A lifetime of misery was crowded into that sort week, but in all its varied horrors I was but
once utterly unnerved. Having been belated one night my driver proposed taking a short cut
across the field to reach the ambulance. On the way we suddenly came upon an amputation
table. Beside it lay a ghastly pile of severed limbs, just as they had been taken from the
mangled bodies. I had seen the ground thickly strewn with dead bodies, had picked my way
among them with calloused nerves, had stood on the brink of uncovered trenches filled with
blackened corpses, had gone home at night with my skirts stained with blood, but there was a
pathetic horror around those nameless hands and feet, none knowing or caring to whom they
once belonged. It was so dreadful, so revolting, that my feet seemed paralyzed and I stood
rooted to the spot with a horrible fascination.

LABORS GRADUALLY LESSENED

As soon as the boys could help themselves they were allowed to leave the hospitals and find
shelter wherever a friendly door opened to them. Many of them were taken in the farm houses.
Free transportation was furnished to all who could go home. Thus our number daily decreased
and the burden was lightened. On my way out to my work in the morning I met scores of poor
fellows who, under more favorable circumstances, would have been thought to need the utmost
care. The halt, the maimed, the bruised and cut, pallid with loss of blood, went on their painful
pilgrimage, often stopping to rest, leaning against the fences or lying down on the ground. They
never failed to come to me to say good-bye and express the greatest gratitude for all the kindness
they had received.

MEMORIES OF THE TIME

The days flew rapidly by, each bringing some new experience and revealing new phases of
character. One could fill volumes with touching incidents that presented themselves in the short
space of a week; but even this imperfect sketch has grown beyond its allotted limits. On the 11th
I reluctantly said good-bye to the boys, many of whom had become very dear to me through their
long suffering and patience. Of the hundreds to whom I ministered the greater part have faded
out of my life as a "vision of the night." Others made an ineffaceable impression, and their
memories are still graven on my heart in letters of gold. Even at this distant day I am encouraged
by an occasional word or token from some grateful soul that gilds the remembrance of that tragic
period with unfading glory.